


slow start to spring

by justlikeswitchblades



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Flirting, Food Kink, KNBxNBA, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-06
Updated: 2017-04-06
Packaged: 2018-10-15 07:27:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10552428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justlikeswitchblades/pseuds/justlikeswitchblades
Summary: It's a sunny day, a welcome change from the April snow that was falling not even 24 hours ago, but there's still enough of a breeze for Shintarou to keep his jacket zipped up halfway in the shade.





	

**Author's Note:**

> where murasakibara gets traded to the celtics for a few years and they live together and none of that is explicitly mentioned in this fic but trust me it matters

Spring, Shintarou notes, has yet to fully emerge as a separate entity from winter. It's a sunny day, a welcome change from the April snow that was falling not even 24 hours ago, but there's still enough of a breeze for him to keep his jacket zipped up halfway in the shade. He has a cannolo in front of him; Atsushi has three cups of gelato. It's something he'd normally chastise Atsushi for, but truthfully, this place’s serving sizes are pretty pitiful. He could easily put two cups away himself if he wanted to try.

The tiny plastic spoon looks like a toy in Atsushi’s fingers. He dips into the smooth surface for a bite, and Shintarou leans over, opening his mouth just a little. There's a beat--fuck, he moved too soon--long enough for his eyes to flash up to Atsushi’s face, catching the twitch at the corner of his mouth before he directs the spoon Shintarou’s way. Shintarou sits back, cheeks heated, but the cool espresso on his tongue pacifies him. He lets it melt, and hums softly in approval.

“God,” Shintarou sighs as Atsushi scoops up another spoonful, offering it his way. “This doesn't do something for you, does it?”

“It will if you play along,” Atsushi teases. “It's not everyday you let me feed you.”

Shintarou wrinkles his nose, making a disapproving sound in his throat. Still, his lips close around the spoon. Atsushi’s teeth peek out from his grin, and Shintarou takes his time before hiding the rest of his smile behind a napkin.

Atsushi pushes the cup towards him, fingers closing on the edge of Shintarou’s paper plate. “I'll trade you?”

“Please,” Shintarou lets their fingers tangle together for a moment as he pushes his hand away. “You'll get half at best.”

Atsushi’s face falls into a pout, though the sincerity is doubtful. Shintarou waits, then finally picks up the cannolo, other hand underneath it to catch any falling crumbs as he offers to Atsushi. Atsushi takes a bite, filling blossoming over his lips. Shintarou quickly looks over his shoulder at the street behind them, then goes back in, stealing a kiss. Atsushi’s fingers lace together with his free hand. His eyes lock on Shintarou as he slowly licks his lips.

Maybe it's the mild cold Shintarou’s been fighting off with the way the weather’s been changing so rapidly, but he finds himself swallowing hard.

“Shit.”

Atsushi squirms the whole ride home. The T isn't really built for people their height, but they still sit side by side on the Orange Line, thighs pressed together, Atsushi whining low and needy in Shintarou’s ear when there isn't anyone else on their half of the car. Shintarou responds by sliding his fingers over his kneecap, elbow bumping the box of cupcakes in his lap. They have a few minutes before their transfer arrives, Shintarou watching Atsushi rock impatiently on the balls of his feet. With a personality like his, who’s to say Shintarou doesn't feel a little special when Atsushi gets antsy like this?

Atsushi's patient for a moment, or at least pretends to be, when they get back to the apartment, letting Shintarou go through his usual routine of twisting the key in the lock. Shintarou hangs the keys up on the coat rack, then his jacket on top, heading to the bathroom to unwrap his fingers. But it's his turn to be impatient when he finds Atsushi waiting for him in the doorway, and he clutches at the front of his hoodie, rising onto his toes. He licks into Atsushi’s mouth, hot and sticky sweet, and Atsushi grips his waist, kissing back hungrily with delayed satisfaction.

Shintarou follows him back to the kitchen and pulls off his shirt, dropping it by the back of the couch. Atsushi opens the box that's sitting on the countertop, taking out a cupcake and peeling the wrapper away. 

He walks over, pushing the yellow cake to Shintarou’s lips. Shintarou licks it tentatively, kisses it--and then he takes a _bite_ , the tower of ivory frosting smearing on the tip of his nose and his upper lip, gooey caramel filling oozing down his chin. He chews, swallows, obedient as Atsushi feeds him the rest, teeth grazing the pads of his fingers. When he finishes, Atsushi swipes over the mess on his face, mopping up frosting and filling. With eyes half-lidded, Shintarou opens his mouth, lips closing around Atsushi’s two fingers as he carefully prods his way to the back of his throat. Shintarou’s eyes close. His shoulders slope as he relaxes, his head lolling a little; they've done something similar to this before. If anything, it's easier this way

Then, he sucks on Atsushi’s fingers with a moan, so self-aware it almost makes him laugh halfway through. It's not as fake as it is a noise that Atsushi’s always been able to draw out of him in one way or another--and it probably happens more easily than Shintarou would like to admit--but it's worth it for Atsushi’s reaction. Pupils blown wide, he lets out the laugh that Shintarou’s been holding in, sticky fingers thrust into his hair as he pulls him in for another kiss.

Shintarou wakes up an hour or so later, blinking in a haze, neck aching from using the couch armrest as a pillow. He groans, palming blindly for his glasses on the coffee table. The sky is starting to go dark, and his fingers slide over his neck, wincing at the swath of bruises that his jersey won't even attempt to cover during tomorrow night's game. He rubs at his cheek, still vaguely sticky with what Atsushi didn't lick away. Atsushi’s got an arm slung across his chest, but is otherwise trying to keep himself small, lying on his side. Shintarou sighs and slips his arms around him, heaving him on top of his chest. It wouldn't hurt to have a little more heat, anyways. Atsushi is snoring in his usual quiet way, and Shintarou sweeps his hair back, pressing a kiss to his temple. He settles back into the cushions.

Maybe it wouldn't hurt to stay like this, for just a little bit longer.


End file.
